


The Road to I Love You

by Ordinarily



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Makeouts, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, also tom holland is great???, i love this boy he's such a nerd, i'm so behind on the bandwagon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordinarily/pseuds/Ordinarily
Summary: Peter's journey to realizing just how much you mean to him.Or: Four sleepovers spent with your best friend.





	The Road to I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> **heavy teen, might bump the rating up

It’s late when Peter sneaks back into his room. 

It’s, apparently, late enough for his best friend to be curled up alone in his bed, probably already nearing a second cycle of REM sleep.  

“Dammit, (Y/N),” he mumbles. “I told you not to wait for me.”

He sheds the Spider-Man suit, with only half a mind to put on actual PJs but then deciding, _screw it_. Subsequently, it takes some debating, but he finally manages to convince himself not to wake the sleeping girl. He’s tired and sore and he’d have to walk her home (even though she lives in the same apartment complex and, really, he’s just flipping through the book of excuses at this point). Plus, he risks waking May, who’ll definitely assume there’s something going on that’s definitely not at all going on. So he lifts the comforter as gently as he can, slipping her under it, and by some god-given nature, managing to not wake her up. He takes that as a cue that he made the right decision and hops back on over to his side of the bed (he has a side now?), shutting off the light before burying himself under the covers too. 

And then he feels cold, which is stupid because he just fought relentlessly for a solid hour and a half, and his whole body aches and he’s kind of sweaty too? But the sweat is sort of drying at this point, so he’s just left feeling gross and cold. On second thought, maybe those pyjamas would’ve been a good idea. Too late now, though, because he’s tucked under the covers and he is _not_ moving. 

His body probably wouldn’t even allow it if he tried. 

So he throws his arm over her instead, and tucks his head right below her neck, moving his legs to tangle with hers in hopes of stealing some warmth. And it kind of works. It’s almost weird how nice this feels, how good it is, but he doesn’t get a lot of time to dwell on it before he drifts off.

——

It’s late and she’s walking by herself and... why is she dressed like that? She stalks forward, the heels of her boots clanking against the asphalt and he smiles to himself. She looks like she has business to attend to and Peter wonders how she would react if he dropped down on her unexpectedly. She’d probably scream. But it’d be hilarious and totally worth it, so he creeps across rooftops until he’s right across the street. A man walks out of a nearby bar and she stops, greeting him.

Peter’s heart stops. Who’s _that?_  

They talk for a bit before the guy gets handsy, pushing her up against the alley wall, just under the lamppost’s dim lighting. She squirms and Peter’s had it, ready to drop down and full on _kill_ this guy before the man is flung back and (Y/N)’s left clutching the knuckles of her fist. 

“Try that shit again!” she yells. 

Spider-Man throws his own fist in the air in triumph, nothing but pride filling him. That’s his girl!

He’s about to let her be, figuring she’s had just about enough surprises for the night and he should probably get back to patrol duty anyway, when three other men prowl out of the alleyway, two of them pinning her back against the brick and a third helping up the other man.

Peter finds it weird that she doesn’t scream. Not when they touch her, not when they peel the trench coat from her shoulders and not when they kiss her neck or force her to her knees. He’s there within seconds but she barely reacts. It’s this kind of numb reaction that he’s not sure what to do with.

And suddenly there’s this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

One of the men pulls out a gun, pointing it to her temple and another aims one at him. He disarms them easily but then the third slams her head back against the brick before taking off and Peter’s left with his unconscious best friend, bleeding out and all over his suit, too. “Shit, shit, no no no no….” He chants curses, and pleads over and over again, because out of all the ways to go out this is how? “You’re okay, (Y/N), I promise you’re okay…”

And then he’s crying because he knows he just lied and just broke a promise and those are two things he never ever does—it’s forbidden in their friendship. His ears are ringing and he’s hyperventilating and it kind of feels like the world is ending, especially when everything goes black.

He’s back in his room and everything still hurts and he’s still sweating for some reason, but this time he’s hot again and there’s a scream lodged in his throat as he scrambles to sit up. She’s still beside him, stirring in her sleep. He leans his head back against his headboard, doing everything in his power to calm himself down, but he can’t help it when tears make their way down his face because he just saw his best friend _die_ and he can’t… he can’t…

“Peter?”

His eyes flit toward her and she’s awake and alive and breathing and talking and concerned… oh, she’s concerned… so he scoops her up in his arms—tears and drowsiness and all—and she hugs him back, pushing his hair out of his face, just like she always does and just like his mom used to do and just like May still does sometimes now. 

“Bad dream?” she whispers.

He nods into her shoulder, keeping his arms steady around her body as they both slowly sink back under the covers.

  

It’s either too early or too late when they both wake up again. In any case, the sun is up and it’s too bright in his room and a little too warm but neither of them is complaining. Peter groans, trying to sit up but stopping short at the weight on his chest. He freezes, not quite sure what to do here, but relaxes again when he feels her breathing evenly. He tries his best not to jostle her too much, as he slips out of bed. 

“Peter?” she mumbles and she sounds _just_ like she did last night. His heart jumps. “Where are you going?” 

“To pee,” he says. Her eyes still haven’t opened.

“Oh.” Her voice is muffled by the sheets. “Okay.” 

When he comes back she’s moved a little, but her face is still pressed against his mattress. Her eyes shift up to him as he towers over his bed. “You gonna let me back in?” 

“Your lip is cut,” she says instead, reaching up to stroke his bottom lip as he leans down. “And your eye is purple.”

She sounds so childlike when she’s tired and he can’t help but think that it’s absolutely adorable. “Yeah,” he replies, shrugging and scooting her over himself as he gets back in. “It’ll heal.”

“No,” she protests, still running her fingers over his face. He scrunches up, squeezing his eyes shut as she traces tiny bruises. “You didn’t even clean yourself up.”

He stares at her blankly before grinning. “You don’t need to play doctor, I’ll be okay.”

In reply, she shows him the new round of fresh blood covering her thumb. He sighs. “Later, okay? I’m tired.”

All at once she gets up, sliding out from the other side of his bed and Peter whines. “Where are you going now?”

“ _Someone_ has to take care of you.”

“It’s just a cut…” he cries, but she’s already gone. 

When she comes back she straddles him, dabbing rubbing alcohol on his wounds. She looks kind of pale and her eyebrows are knitted together. She squints at his swollen cheekbone. He studies her for a bit before, “You okay?” 

It comes out lower than he’d intended, kind of like he himself is worried. She nods but doesn’t say anything and that’s when he knows that she’s not.  

“What is it?” he insists, grabbing her arm and halting her movements. 

She looks him straight in the eye, her expression softening. “I know… I know this is what you want to do and I know you can handle it and I promised I'd trust you but… I don’t like seeing you coming back like this.” 

He looks up to the ceiling, the back of his head hitting the headboard. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m okay.” And this time he doesn’t feel like he’s lying. He’s a little banged up, sure, but not more than that.

“You limped your way to the bathroom, Peter."

He rolls her off him, bringing her into his side. “I think that’s enough nursing today, hm?”

“You'd better not do anything stupid, okay?”

“I promise,” he says, holding out his pinky. 

She looks at him and for a moment they’re eight years old again, sharing a bed at their weekly sleepover. She grins and wraps her pinky around his. “You can’t take that back now, you know?” 

“I know.”

 

***

 

It’s a late-night study session.  

They’ve got a Chem final Monday and Peter was out on patrol last night, so they’re forced to cram tonight instead. Probably not a wise choice, considering the week’s notice they were given.

“I’m so fucking tired!” she whines, slamming her head against a textbook. “If I have to memorize one more goddamn formula…”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” he replies, “because we still have six more to go.” 

She growls, not lifting her head from the book. 

“Okay, how about this,” he offers, “three more problems and then we’ll take a break.”

“You mean nap?” She perks up.

“If you fall asleep now, you won’t wake up until tomorrow and you’ll fail,” Peter reasons.

“So let me fail,” she mutters, gesticulating dramatically. “Being a stripper always sounded good to me, anyway.” He shoots her a pointed look. “Fine, but I’m moving it up from plan L to plan K… Besides, we do still have all of tomorrow to study.”

Another look. “You know that’s not true.”

“We don’t _need_ to go to those internships…”

“ _Uh_ , yes we do. Those are our _futures_.”

“Peter! Tony Stark offered you a literal position on the _Avengers_! You have your whole future planned out for you! You’ll be a millionaire… You’ll never have to study for another test in your life!”

Peter shakes his head, copying down a problem in his notebook. She knows damn well why he didn’t accept that position. 

“Look, what I’m trying to say is you could afford to slack off a bit. Don’t you think all-nighters are a little excessive?”

“If I pull an all-nighter tonight, I’ll get to sleep tomorrow night! Which means I’ll have gotten all the sleep I need for Monday. I have a system, (Y/N).”

“I respect your system wholeheartedly Peter, but after this question, I’m going to bury myself under the blankets of your overly-comfortable bed and drag my ass to sleep.”

“Why, of course you’re welcome to stay the night. Please, do not let me interfere with your—”

She hits him squarely in the face with a pillow and he can’t help but laugh. “One more word out of you and I’m cancelling Friday movie nights,” she threatens.

He pouts. “Fine, fine. Head to bed, but I’m not joining you.”

“That’s okay,” she says, “Mr. SnugglePuffs is a better cuddle partner anyway.”

Peter huffs, but the corners of his lips tug upwards. 

—— 

She’s wearing that outfit again. (Where has he seen that?) To anyone but Peter she’d look kind of anxious, her demeanour stone-cold and her steps quick enough to be considered suspicious. Instead of the heeled boots, flat sneakers cover her feet. There’s no noise when she walks. She glances behind her as she turns the corner and Peter knows almost immediately that she’s more than anxious—she’s scared.

He can’t see the face of the man who pushes her up against the wall, but he’s set in motion as soon as it happens. He stops, hiding again, when she pushes him away and continues walking. They’re two blocks away from their apartment complex. If she runs, she could make it home safe.  

Why isn’t she running? 

Three men sneak out of the shadows and he feels like he’s seen this before but he can’t quite place where. 

She fights and pushes and struggles but they don’t let up. Spider-Man's had it. He bounds down off a nearby rooftop, fuelled by blinding rage. They’re taking off her clothes. 

_No._

_They can’t do that._

He springs forward unleashing a growl so wild that he almost doesn’t believe it’s his own…

Except he doesn’t do any of that because he can’t move and he can’t talk or scream or do anything but watch as they take advanta—

He wakes up in a frenzy. 

_Again_ , this shit?

She’s in his bed across the room, perfectly safe and soundly asleep with his old teddy bear. 

He figures he should get back to studying, so he does for a bit but he can’t find it in him to concentrate.

 

One hundred and sixty-four: wrong.

One hundred and sixty-five: wrong.

One hundred and sixty-six: wrong.

One hundred and six—

 

Forget it. 

So he climbs in bed with her and forgets about it. He’ll study tomorrow night, system be damned.

 

***

 

A Friday movie night at her place. 

They don’t usually end up under the covers together—at least not at her place or at least not during movie nights—but apparently the AC got jammed or something, and it’s feeling a little chilly in the (Y/L/N) household. Either way, he’s not complaining. She’s warm and soft and her bed’s comfortable, so he lies back and stares at the comedy movie playing on the screen in her lap. There’s a sleeping bag on the floor next to the bed and he kind of hopes he makes it there in time. If someone walked in on them asleep together, it would be chaos. Though a small voice somewhere in the back of his head reminds him that no one’s going to walk in. Everyone’s up and out early tomorrow—besides her—and they’ll probably have all of tonight and tomorrow to do whatever they want. He’s excited. It’s been awhile since they’ve gotten to spend time together. What with school and internships and applications, in certain cases, they’ve both had their hands full. 

“I missed you,” he says suddenly, almost startling himself.

 She glances at him. “I missed you too.” It’s a silent for a little while before she lowers her voice and speaks again. “You know, you’re like some sort of stress reliever.”  

She doesn’t elaborate, so he leaves it at that squeezing her wrist momentarily, before turning his head and coming face with the hair splayed over her pillows. It smells so much like her even though, rationally, he knows it’s just her shampoo. He watches her for a bit, how her expression changes in time with the movie and her lips curve in different ways and her cheeks move and her eyebrows twitch and her eyes flit over the screen like she’s trying to take everything in all at once but there’s not quite enough time. 

And then he realizes he’s probably being creepy and he doesn’t really know when he started looking at her like this, so he closes his eyes instead of dwelling on it because, frankly, he can’t do that right now. He feels her look over at him at some point, but he’s already too far gone to acknowledge it.

 — —

She’s beautiful. 

The dress and trench coat are gone, thankfully.

And she’s not walking past some shady alleyway in New York. No, she’s safe and with him and in the comfort of his small room, dressed in her perfect girl-next-door attire.

“I’m stressed,” she says, seemingly out of the blue.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to be a neurophysicist. Or a physicist at all. I don’t even want to work in the medical field.”

He knows this. She’s confided this in him before. “Just stick with it for a little longer,” he tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, in what he hopes is a comforting gesture but knows is probably awkward. “Just until you can prove yourself to your family.”

She sighs, head hanging low. “I know, I know… I think… I think maybe I just need a distraction.”

“I’ve got board games lined up in my closet.”

She smiles. “What about… something different?”

He looks at her. “What did you have in mind?”

And suddenly they’re in his bed and she’s straddling him, just like that day where she bandaged him up after the long fight. His breath catches as she leans forward, their lips just brushing.

He wants to pull away and list all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this, tell her that he can’t just do this and forget about it tomorrow—he can't just be a distraction—but instead he advances, kissing her fully and he can’t understand it. It’s like he has no control.

It feels good and she feels good and he wants to keep doing it. Over and over again. So they do, until it becomes a lot—too much—and they should definitely stop, but he doesn’t _care_ because he loves her so damn much.

She breathes heavily and makes little noises and Peter finds himself chasing after them. He pulls her even closer, despite knowing how wrong this probably is, but it feels so _right_ … so he throws himself in completely. Her tongue touches his and then it’s game over for him. 

He’s a goner.

— —

 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

_Well, this is embarrassing_.

And what’s even worse: her arm is thrown over his torso, legs intertwined with his and she’s _not wearing pants_ for some reason???

He almost yelps. 

Oh, nope.

He does yelp. 

Because she wakes up, disengaging herself from her prior position, (inclusive of her nose lodged somewhere in his ribcage) and looks at him blearily. He _knew_ he should’ve slept in the sleeping bag. 

“Peter?”

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” He whispers it, like he’s in middle school, sharing a secret.

She giggles and turns over, stretching. 

She makes noises. Peter has to look away.

“I got hot. See?” she says, lifting herself from under the covers to show him that she’s also taken off her top to reveal a blue sports bra.

_Fantastic_.

“Right,” he replies and he knows he sounds flustered. Probably looks flustered too. 

“You sleep in boxers all the time,” she warns.  

She’s right. She puts up with him like that, it’s only fair. And they’re best friends. _Nothing weird about this._

Then she starts laughing and his eyes dart to her, suddenly worried. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. I get it now. I’ll go make breakfast.” She slides out of bed, throwing on a large sweater, but it’s too late. He’s seen everything. He gulps. “And you can… take care of yourself.” 

He shoots up out of bed on his side to ~~freak out~~  protest. “Th-that’s not—I can’t control it! I didn’t—I’m not some weird perv (Y/N)!”

“You keep telling yourself that Penis Parker,” she taunts, turning back to shoot him a grin, just so that he knows she’s joking.

He still feels kind of defeated. 

And embarrassed. _Lots_ of embarrassed.

He knows that she understands, but he still takes minimal time in her bathroom, just to make a point that he’s not… taking care of himself. Or whatever else it is she thinks that he’s doing. 

He should probably apologize. So he does. But she shakes her head and tells him she’s taken more than her fair share of mandatory health classes and she gets it. It’s all right. 

Except it’s not because he can’t hide it anymore. It’s one thing to feel all warm and fuzzy inside every time they cuddle and another to _want_ things from her and he can’t… he can’t be doing that.

 

***

 

She makes it really kind of hard, though, when every time they get together for _anything_ , she’s always touching him. A shoulder shove, a hand brush, a tickle fight, a wrestling match, a cuddle session… 

They get bored of homework, there aren’t any movies they care to watch, and May’s already gone to bed, so they’re not left with a whole lot of options for the evening. She stares at him for a bit from her spot on the floor while he types away on a laptop. He looks up, finally. “What?” 

“Do a flip for me.”

He pauses. “I’m sorry, what? No.”

“Aw, why not! I barely ever get to see you in action,” she whines.

Peter gives her a scolding look. “Compulsive lying is a disorder.”

As he goes back to typing, she flops back down on his floor, staring up at the faded white ceiling. 

There’s an instant urge, on his part, to get up, throw the computer to the side and lie down with her. They’d already agreed to give up homework for the night, but if he does anything else—gives her his attention—he’s afraid he’ll do something he can’t take back.  

Something incredibly _stupid_. 

Like, kiss her. Or even worse, tell her he loves her. 

He wrinkles his nose. 

Not happening. 

It takes all of thirty seconds before she’s back to complaining. “Peter…” she stretches out his name so far he’s almost annoyed. “I’m bored. Distract me.”

Peter almost chokes. 

“Distractions… distractions are not a good thing,” he practically heaves. 

And now he sounds suspicious. _Great._ He keeps typing. 

He hears more than sees her get up because there’s no way he’s risking taking his eyes off his computer screen. She wanders over to him and he squirms, sinking further into his mattress. 

_If she comes any closer…_

She sits on his bed. He panics. 

“You’re cute, you know that?” she says, pushing his hair away from his face, and Peter’s sure this is another dream. He stops typing. 

“I’m what now?” he thinks he says, but his heart is beating so quickly and his mouth is so dry that he’s pretty sure it came out all garbled and unintelligible. 

“You’re cute. Once you look past all the dorkishness.”

“(Y/N), you’re literally the biggest nerd I’ve ever met,” and even to him, it sounds like a reflex. Like it’s the only retaliation he has to her jabs. 

“Sure, but I mean you’re, like, objectively handsome.”

“Thank you?” It comes out like a question and he can’t really find it in himself to breathe. “Is this some weird new method of seduction? Are you trying to seduce me? Is that what this is?” he jokes, but he speaks too fast and his eyes skip to hers nervously before staring back at the letters blurring together on his screen. His smile is forced.

“Are you okay, Peter?” she asks, and this time he looks at her, but he still can’t keep his eyes still. They flit all over her face and down her body and then back up again. He sits up because he feels like he needs to do something else besides panic. “You seem kind of nervous…”

“I’m just stressed,” he says before visibly wincing. 

(At this point, it may as well be his fault. She was probably just trying to pay him an innocent compliment and now they're going to end up—)

“Why’s that?” she asks.

_No no no no no no._ She leans closer. He scrambles to get as far away from her as possible, accidentally knocking his laptop to the far end of the bed. 

“Pe—”

“I can’t kiss you!” he yells.

And then there’s dead silence.

_Scream back. Scream back. Why isn't she screaming back?!_

“You can’t—? Peter, what’s going on?”

“It would ruin our friendship! We can’t—we can’t do that (Y/N)! I can’t lose you! I—I—There were these dreams and you were being… and then I tried—but I couldn’t—and then in one we—and then I woke up with—and…”

She waits patiently as he tries to explain, talking too fast and stringing words together and forgetting the concept of sentences as a whole until he runs out of air. He stops, breathing heavily, before, “I love you.” 

And that’s perfectly enunciated; no stuttering, no incoherence. 

He swallows. Looks at her, searching her eyes in anticipation, but nothing more than that. 

Finally, she says, “I love you, too,” and his heart swells. She doesn’t even have to know what he’s rambling on about to say it back.  

Which is exactly why he’s hit with the sudden fear that they mean different things. “No,” he insists. “Like, I love you. Like, you make my heart beat too fast and my palms sweat… but everything feels okay when it comes to you even when absolutely nothing is okay. Do you… Do you get what I mean?” 

She smiles. Nods. “You’re my _best friend_ , Peter Parker. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

He sighs. She doesn’t get it. Maybe it’s a gift from the cosmic forces of the universe, a chance to redeem himself, a persuasion to keep their relationship the way it is. Perfectly platonic. But then her lips are on his, tentative and slow and this is all  _definitely_ a dream. Except her hand is in his hair and their noses are brushing… and this _feels_ like (Y/N). Her lips still feel like that time they accidentally kissed in seventh grade, and she smells like she always does, lovely and sweet, and he can feel how fast her pulse is beating when he slides his palm to her cheek and his thumb lands under her ear.

They’re little fragments of reality that let him know just how real this is and it's a million times better than any dream or fantasy. 

“God, I love you,” he whispers, pulling away.

“You’ve said that three times now,” she mumbles, kissing him again.

“You’ve been keeping count?” he asks teasingly before connecting their lips again.

She smiles. “It’s not every day I get to hear the great Peter Parker tell me he loves me.”

And it’s the fact that she says, ‘the great Peter Parker’ and not, ‘the great Spider-Man’ that shatters his composure. He’s on top of her just like that, kissing her as deeply as he can because he doesn’t care when it comes to her. He doesn’t have to tread lightly, or be careful with what he does or what he says or what sounds escape him. He just does. Whatever feels right and whatever comes to him and whatever makes her smile or laugh or keen or _need_.

“May’s sleeping,” she gets out between kisses.

He moves to her neck. “Guess that means you’ll just have to be quiet.”

— —

He awakes to her scrolling through her phone. 

The first thing he sees is a trail of bruises across her skin. Immediate panic surges up, before he realizes _he’s_ the cause of those, and she moaned and panted through the entire ordeal. He smirks, leaning over to drag down the neckline of his tee (his tee? she’s wearing his shirt? holy shit she looks so good wow she’s wearing his—) and admire his work. 

“Like what you see?” she laughs, barely glancing at him. 

“Always,” he replies, in a tone earnest enough to make her turn and kiss him gently. 

“Your lips are swollen,” she notes, laughing as she turns back to her phone.

“You wanna take care of them for me, hm?” he asks in what’s more of a suggestion as he brings her face back to his for another kiss.

“Have I told you how much I love kissing you? Because I really love kissing you.”

He lifts her over him without any sign of struggle and brings the blankets up around her because, if he has any say in it, they’re gonna be here for a little while. “Oh… no less than fifteen times last night,” she teases.

“You kept count?” he asks, smirking against her lips. 

_Cocky, cocky boy._

He strokes the soft skin by her waist and feels her bite his lower lip in warning. He laughs, dazed and dreamy. “You’re so needy,” she mumbles against him.

“But you still think I’m cute, right?” he asks, just to see how far he can push it. She bites his earlobe this time, pulling a soft groan from him. He laughs again, breathless.

“So what's this about dreams?” she asks slowly, pressing delicate kisses to his neck. "You sort of mentioned them yesterday."

And so he tells her about them and she listens, offering little more than curious _oh?’_ s and acknowledging hums. When he finishes, he’s out of breath from speaking so fast, in true Peter Parker fashion.

She smiles at him. “Thanks for telling me.”

He nods. “Sure.” Then adds, “Stay safe for me, would ya?”

“Sounds like something I should be saying to you.”

“That’s because you _have_ said that to me.”

She cups his cheek and kisses him before getting up. “I wouldn’t take those dreams too literally, okay?”

“What do you mean?” he calls out, just as she opens his bedroom door. She glances out into the hall, but Peter reminds her that May’s at work and looks at her expectantly. 

Her smile is rogue. “For starters, I don’t own a dress that looks anything like that.”

He contemplates it. “Yeah but the… the third dream came true… sort of.”

She shakes her head. “They’re your own battles, Peter. I’m nothing but a pawn in your imagination.”

He opens his mouth to argue, “(Y-Y/N) that’s not—”

She holds up her hand. “Hang on, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I’m glad this came out of it, I’m glad you love me—” She says it so freely that his heart stutters for a moment. “—but I've never known you to be psychic... or... erm... I guess, tell the future from your dreams."

“...You're right."

In an instant, she’s scooped up in his arms and he’s hugging her so tight she’s convinced some of his Spidey strength is at work. She laughs, in a kind of melancholy way, and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I get… I get it now. I’ll try to be more careful in fights, okay? I—I won’t—”

“Hey,” she says softly, pulling away from him just enough to see his face. His grip tightens on her. “It’s okay. I know you’re careful. I trust you.”

He kisses her. Once. Twice. Three times. And over again, because he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it right or any of that so he settles for doing his best to show her.  

And together they collapse on his bed, where for the next little while, she shows him right back.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> idk


End file.
